Dhritarashtra, grieving, summons Vidura for counsel

The palace was emptying. The Pandavas, stripped of their royal garments and dressed in the skins of ruru deer, had set out for the forest, surrounded by jeering enemies and weeping well-wishers. Their mother, Kunti, had been led away to Vidura’s house, her lamentations still hanging in the air. In the sudden quiet, King Dhritarashtra sat alone with the consequences. His mind was immersed in grief. The dice game was over. His sons had won a kingdom, a fortune, and their cousins’ freedom, but the victory felt like ash. The images would not leave him: Yudhishthira’s shame, Bhima’s rage, Arjuna’s silent fury. And Draupadi, dragged into the assembly, her question echoing in the hall — a question about dharma that no one had answered to her satisfaction. He needed to hear a voice that was not an echo of his own desires. He needed the one person in Hastinapura who had warned him, repeatedly, against this path. He sent a messenger at once: bring Kshatta to me. Bring Vidura. Vidura came. He was the son of a servant-woman, born of the same sage Vyasa as Dhritarashtra and Pandu, but his wisdom made him the true counselor to the throne. He entered his brother’s house, the lord of men who could see nothing, and found him in a state of great anxiety. Dhritarashtra questioned him. The questions are not recorded, but their nature is clear in the air between them. They were the questions of a man who has gotten everything he wanted for his sons and now finds the prize poisonous. What have we done? What comes next? Is there any way back from this? Vidura had watched it all. He had consoled the afflicted Kunti, explaining the reasons for this disaster even as the explanation caused him more suffering. Now he stood before the architect of that disaster, summoned not for blame, but for counsel. The stage was set for the words that would follow — words of stark truth about greed, destiny, and the price of a kingdom won through deceit.